


This Mess is Mine

by orphan_account



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Orphaned because i gave up!, Shameless Self-Indulgent Fic, This Is Written In Second Person and Im So Sorry, but like, its cute whatever, she's a drag queen still, trans!Katya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:24:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A very self-indulgent fic wherein Katya returns home from a gig early just to be with her girlfriend.





	This Mess is Mine

You always cherished these moments. The quiet, calm before the storm. When the flat was a mess but the living room was tidy, and you could curl up with dinner on the couch.

You and Katya had given up on eating together a long time ago, her erratic nights and whims never aligned with yours, it was easier just to eat when each of you felt like it.

On evenings like this, though, you’d make an extra meal for her. Leave it in the fridge for when she came home from a show,

No one else you’d ever met _felt_ quite as strongly as Katya. It was enough to make you feel inadequate, at times, for the way your heart didn’t burn and twist at every injustice in the world. For shielding yourself from the intense emotions, feeling them numbly but not in the all-consuming way that only Katya could manage. Performances were the peak of this, the adrenaline rush and the way she absorbed the feelings of every single person in the dark, cramped club. You’d seen it before, how she’d get so wrapped up in the energy of a room, sacrifice herself to be a lightning rod for everyone else’s emotions. It was so intense you couldn’t even imagine it. How it must feel to share that huge, beating heart that she wore on her sleeve.

Yet at the end of the night, she’d come back to you, heart intact and pulsing with pure, strong _feelings._

It was a lot, and it was intimidating, and it was exciting, and most of all it made you appreciate the true ferocity of every single thing Katya did and felt. The veracity of her feelings and that even after every gorgeous, sweaty, horny club-goer that paid her for just a brush of her hand, a split-second of her attention, she’d take an Uber back at midnight and she’d end up laying in your bed.

It was still your bed. You weren’t at the ‘our’ stage, yet. Nonetheless, Katya’s flat was a shell, long since moved out of for the convenience of cohabiting with you. Your unused office had become an unorganised closet, a shrine to her drag. The door stayed closed unless there was a show that night, your everyday hair and makeup stuff mixed with hers on the bathroom counter. It was a divider, one that reminded you that your girlfriend wasn’t the on-screen lunatic that the whole world knew, just an everyday woman who you had the honor of loving.

*

The door slammed open and shut just after one, as you were absentmindedly working, Netflix playing in the background. It was familiar enough, you didn’t even look up as you finished up for the night, closing the laptop and muting the TV.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Oh, so she was singing tonight. Katya swanned into the room with a manic grin, drag makeup and false eye-lashes still on. By the time she’d jumped onto the couch next to you, her wig was in hand, wig-cap going with it. She kissed you gently and chastely before pressing her pin-curl covered scalp towards your hands, grinning. You knew how much she loved this, having you unpin her long blonde hair from it’s intricate show-time pin curls. She purred like a cat as you stroked at her hair, weaving it through your fingers and untangling it as best as you could. It was sweaty and tacky from product, matted with makeup and from the chaos of working all night. Nonetheless, you loved it almost as much as she did. Saving her the pain of trying to unknot it herself, feeling her curl further and further on your lap, grinning up at you. The first time you’d helped her undo it, she’d been sat on the bed, staring through her en-suite door at the mirror, tugging at in frustration as she couldn’t figure out how to undo the knots and twists it’d ended up in.

Some nights she’d fall asleep on you, after a particularly taxing show that drained every ounce of her energy with no reciprocation from the audience. But tonight, she was ecstatic, eyes wide open and heart beating fast where she was leant against your arm. The show was good, you assumed. It was one she’d been talking about for months, the first outing of this particular leotard in front of a home-crowd of drag race fans. Her friends were performing too, doing new performances and old-favorites. But she’d still rushed home, completely sober, to you.

“How was it tonight?”

She hummed, resting her head against you so that your fingers in her hair stilled. The tangles were out, but you kept brushing your fingers through her curls anyway. You’d probably end up washing it for her tonight, cramped in your tiny cubicle shower. She’d told you once that you were the only reason she didn’t chop her hair short. That she’d miss you fussing and primping it.

You could believe it, with the way she slumped against you, recalling all the technical hitches and funny comments her sisters had made that evening. How she was still on a high from the audience, the way they’d screamed when her name was called, sung along to every word, even tried the Russian ones. Apparently one of the local queens’ best friends was in the audience, a shy super-fan of hers. She’d hunted him out during the chorus of a song, risked clambering off the stage and into his lap and relished in the way he’d blushed and tried to hide his glee. You loved the glimmer in her eyes as she recounted the younger queen’s reaction backstage, the way the man had been furiously texting her in disbelief that _Katya Zamolodchikova_ had sat in _his lap_.

She was such an emotive speaker, hands dancing across both your bodies and in the air as she told her stories, big white teeth smudged with lipstick from where you’d kissed hello.

“… and now, I’m home with you!” she finished with a flourish, and a gentle forefinger poked into your cheek teasingly.

“You don’t have to rush back, y’know. I really don’t mind.” You told her, smiling softly as you moved hair out of her face.

“I know, I was so excited to come back though.” She settled herself onto your lap completely, facing you square on with a smile. “I wanted to see you.”

“Did you now?” You giggled, as she curved down to press her sweaty, foundation covered forehead against yours.

“Uh huh…” You tried to roll your hips up into hers, failing to move very far under her weight. She laughed, grinding down against you far more successfully and elegantly. She moaned, just a few millimetres from your lips, the hot breath on your sensitive lips.

“I’m gonna go to the bedroom.” She told you, voice raspy and seductive.

You hummed, nodding desperately. This may have been the honeymoon phase of your relationship, but you knew the routine. Give her a few moments to de-drag a bit, then saunter through to the bedroom, and see what she wanted.

You liked her changes in the bedroom. How her strong moods would affect what she wanted. Whether she wanted to be dominated, to be denied for hours with both hands tied and her eyes and mouth covered. Some nights she just wanted loving, for you to ride her luxuriously until she could take it any more, trying to finish yourself off with a vibrator pressed to your clit before she came inside of you, gasping for breath and tugging you down for a deep and frantic snog.

What would it be tonight? She seemed to be impassioned after a good show, veins pumping with adrenaline and apparently in a very lovely mood. You got up and stretched, twisting your back and loosening up your shoulders, just in case.

In the bedroom you could hear her pottering around, de-dragging, moving things back and forth from the bathroom and skipping songs as she chose a playlist.

Blanket folded and dishes in the sink, you wandered through to the bedroom, loitering near the door as you watched a half-undressed Katya struggle to pluck her fake nails off.

“You strugglin’?”

She laughed around the fingernail clenched in her teeth, grunting as the glue held. You giggled at her, prompting the woman to finally get off her ass and run them under the hot faucet. You took the opportunity to strip off your socks and pants, throwing them in the dirty laundry basket, hearing the water running through the open doorway.

When Katya emerged she had finally removed her nails, absentmindedly rubbing the remaining adhesive off them as she approached you. In just a corset and panties she was a vision, and she framed your face with one hand, dragging you closer to kiss her. The kiss was hard and searching, working your mouth with enough force and enthusiasm to push you back. The passion was appreciated, but you didn’t know if you had the energy to meet it tonight.

“I’m pretty tired, Kat.” You spoke against her lips, barely above a whisper, never losing your grip on her upper body.

 She grimaced, managing to pull back despite your best efforts to keep her close. With a half-masked disappointment in her eyes, she started to ramble.

“Oh, sorry. I’m just kinda hyper after the show, I mean, when am I not hyper after a show! But obviously you don’t have to… but I really wanted to… “

You distracted her by finding the clasps on her corset, tiny ones that were hidden along her stomach. As you undid them, she lost her train of thought, instead watching you with swollen, smudged, parted lips.

“I’m not too tired, just… I might not make it too long.” You pecked her on the nose, before wrapping both hands around each side of her jawline. She smiled down at you, eyes flickering up and down your face. You rubbed her cheek comfortingly. “Do whatever you want.”

That was all the blessing she needed, apparently, because Katya freed herself of her panties, now a little damp with precome, easing you down to sitting on the bed, before crawling onto the sheets to join you.

“You sure? We can wait?” She offered, although you could tell she didn’t want to wait. You laughed, laying down on your side to join her.

“I wouldn’t have stayed up for you if I wasn’t.”

“So you’re just ‘gonna be a pillow princess for the night? Is that it?” She looked mock offended, eyebrows scrunched comically and her nose wrinkled.

“Uh huh.” You teased, raking your hands over the indents left by the corset on her pale skin. She groaned, connecting your lips. You could feel her smile as she kissed you, a barely concealed giggle making her ribcage jolt.

You made out like teenagers a while longer, her hard cock occasionally brushing against your thigh, red with hot blood and heavy. Eventually you unlatched your bra, breaking contact with her warm lips to toss it across the room. She took the hint, groping at your breasts with her free arm, struggling to free the other from underneath her.

“So, tell me what you want, then? What did you rush back for?” You prompted.

Katya loved to talk in bed, and you loved to listen. She was a wordsmith in a past life, you were certain of it. But her words were even more powerful when she was fucking you, getting teased, getting fucked. The passion in her veins spilled out on her tongue, accent a little more potent as she hunted for exactly which words she wanted.

“Well… I did rush back for kinky, borderline-illegal sex… but I suppose… if you’re not up for that… ” she pretended to think, top hand getting steadily closer to your pubic mound, pressing into your stomach hard enough to make you gasp, close to her mouth so that you inhaled hot air.

“… We’ll figure something out.”

*

“You’re so beautiful.” You gasped, watching as her mouth went lax.

Katya was thrusting into you, deep and slow and filling in a way that your cervix was only just comfortable with. It knocked the air out of your lungs every time her hips trust, her upper body leaning more and more on yours as sweat poured down her face.

“I’m… I’m ‘gonna cum…” she rasped, teeth gritted and body tensing.

You weren’t there yet, but that was okay.

“Go on baby…” You encouraged her, seeing the concern on her face.

Katya heaved out a sob, speeding up her pace until you were cringing at the force

The condom was a courtesy at this point in your relationship, but you liked to use one anyway. Just to put your mind at rest. Katya chucked it in the bin behind her, lazy fingers playing between your legs.

*

As promised, you just lay back and let her eat you out. With two fingers forced inside you and a firm suction on your clit, she spent an inordinately long time making you lightly groan, your build-up so slow you barely noticed it. Then, when you finally hooked your feet around her body, pressed into her back, she challenged you. With the rough friction of her tongue and the stretch of a third finger she forced you over the edge, breaking contact to laugh against your clit as you whined.

*

Lying in bed with a fresh-faced Katya, free of the pressure of social media and fans and promoters, this was what you were here for. The reason she rushed back every show night, the reason you waited up and helped her de-drag and talked her down from panics. In the soft, warm cocoon of your bedroom, both aching and satisfied and a little sticky, this was everything you wanted.

Messy and calm and _hers._


End file.
